


Everything We Are

by LittleDarkling



Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-01
Updated: 2011-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-26 18:26:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleDarkling/pseuds/LittleDarkling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony and James. Set after the first movie</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything We Are

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. The characters belong to Marvel. No infringement intended, no profit made. Just a work of fan love
> 
>  
> 
> A/N: This has been sitting around in my brain since the first movie. I just adore these two together.
> 
> The fic was pretty much inspired by this quote from Ovid, "Love will enter, cloaked in friendship's name."

 

 

 

James gets to the mansion at around nine. Built into the rocky hills overlooking a private beach to the west and the urban sprawl of Los Angeles to the east, it is less a house, than a massive technological marvel. Built to its owner's exact specifications, it's simply another extension of his genius. It's pretty early by Tony's standards, so James doesn't worry about dropping in unannounced. Tony's always had an open door policy when it comes to the people he trusts. Not that Tony trusts easily, which is why only James and Pepper have standing invitations to come and go as they please. He swipes the security card through the door and smiles at the electronic voice that welcomes him,

 

"Good evening, Colonel Rhodes."

 

"Evening," he replies. He hears Pepper's voice before he sees her, a soft girlish giggle follows her words and it makes him grin. Pepper has a new boyfriend and love has made her revert to the blushing schoolgirl she must have been. James is of the opinion that it is a good look on her. He's always believed a woman is most beautiful when she is in love. 

 

Pepper is in the living room, walking slowly back and forth in front of the large windows, talking softly into her cell phone. Her red hair is twisted into a neat little bun and she's dressed in an expensive pressed business suit—a gift from her employer, no doubt. She smiles and nods to him, pointing in the direction of the stairs and mouths 'Tony'. James smiles and winks, mouthing 'thanks', back at her. 

 

He heads down to the lab-slash-garage. The lab is a bustle of activity at this time, the small animatronic gadgets and automated robotic systems spinning and working, moving things, running diagnostics. James' eyes settle on Tony and for moment he stands, just watching. Tony is sitting in front of the multi-screen computer system, arguing with Jarvis, gesticulating wildly with one hand, while the other, encased in some metallic contraption, is levitating what appears to be an orange-sized ball weight. It's hovering about six inches off the table. He slides his card through the reader and punches in the security code. The door opens with a loud chirp.

 

"Ah, Miss Potts, good. Would you please explain to this limey bastard that I will take him off-line if he continues to back-talk? Because he seems to think it's a hollow threat."

 

"It is a hollow threat," James replies; Tony's head whips around.

 

"Rhodey!" he blurts happily. He closes his fist, causing the ball weight to strike the floor with a resounding crack and roll away. In typical fashion, Tony doesn't even regard it.

 

"Good evening, Colonel Rhodes," Jarvis says, his accent even more smooth and lilting given his current disagreement with his programmer.

 

"Good evening, Jarvis," James answers. Tony strips off the arm band and turns to meet James as he approaches. Tony's wearing little more than a pair of well-worn blue jeans and a sleeveless undershirt. The circular blue light of the reactor shines through the thin white fabric. He's looking somewhat kempt....well, as much as kempt is for Tony. Dark brown hair mussed from him running his fingers through it and goatee at least somewhat touched up. Just enough to betray him as something other than a cardboard box hobo. His bare feet are perched bird-like on the lower rung of the stool on which he is sitting. James links his hands behind his back as he walks toward the workstation.

 

"New toy?" he asks, circling to look at the various items Tony has laid out, but directing his attention to the arm band.

 

"Oh, yes. Something for the suit, actually," Tony replies.

 

"Have you been down here all day?"

 

"Half of the day. Miss Potts came down and dragged me up for lunch at around one. She doesn't take 'no' for an answer, that woman."

"Lucky for you," James stops in front of Tony.

 

"Lucky for me, she's found herself a boyfriend," Tony says. "Keeps her from playing mother-hen all day." Tony looks up at him, brown eyes glinting and lips twitching up in a mischievous, lecherous grin that makes James instantly wary. "And I believe, that she will be wrapped up in that call for a good while. Which gives me time to work on something far more interesting." Tony reaches out, finger hooking in James's belt loop and tugging the older man between his knees. "Have I told you how much I enjoy seeing you in uniform?" James smiles slightly.

 

"Yes. You have. Many times. Although, the last time we spoke your chief complaint was that you don’t see me out of it often enough." 

 

“Yes, well, I do rather prefer you out of it.” Tony stands up, pulling himself to full height. Their noses are bare centimeters apart and James can taste Tony's breath, coffee and a touch of liquor. They look at each other, studying one another as they often do. Some alpha sensibilities left over from their first meeting, when they circled, guarded and unsure of each other. Tony's warm brown eyes are touched with gold fleck in this light. His fingers come up to stroke along James's cheek and his fingertips are calloused and rough, but the touch is gentle. There is that smile, warm and secret, just for him and James remembers again how he fell so much in love. It is not that he forgets, but sometimes he will lose sight. In the next week, or the next day or...even the next hour that Tony will do something illogical or outrageous or just flat-out reckless and James will wonder why. Why does he stay? And then he remembers. 

 

Because Tony is the avatar of humanity. Imperfect, fallen. Magnificent for his flaws, rather than despite them. Their lips and noses brush and bump in a familiar play. Never meeting to form a kiss. He can't remember now at which point it was that their friendship evolved into more. When Tony's airy flirtations began to become weighted, until every word was felt acutely and were no longer so easy to brush off. Or when he suddenly needed the contact, the knowledge of Tony's skin beneath his fingers. 

 

He can't remember if there was alcohol involved that first time or if they had been sober. It had never been quite a kiss, but just like this, the ghost of kisses and all the things that should follow...that did not follow. But it had changed everything. And so it had not been surprising that when Tony had gone missing all those months ago--when the news reached him--James had felt a crack form on the surface of his heart. Not a break, but only because in his heart, he held the knowledge that Tony was not dead. 

 

To this day he cannot explain it, because all evidence pointed to the contrary. Even without a body, there was no doubt that he was dead. No doubt to anyone, but James. And now looking back he cannot understand how he could not admit it. It was not disbelief, or grief or denial. Despite all evidence to the contrary, he had just known. By some sixth sense or some innate bond that existed between them, linking them across deserts, across oceans, across continents, his heart knew enough that somewhere out in that desolate land of winding rock and sand, Tony's still beat.

 

"Never stopped looking?" Tony murmurs, as if he can read James's thoughts. "Always knew I was alive."

 

"Yeah," James replies. Tony's lips press a kiss to his chin.

 

"I knew you wouldn't give up," he breathes.

 

"Not on you," James murmurs without thinking about it, the words whispering into Tony's mouth just before it covers his own. There's the rasp of his facial hair, the thing that had come as shock to James the first time their lips had actually met. His experiences prior had all been with women. He had never kissed a man before Tony and no desire to kiss any other man. But the shock had been no less, the first time. He opens to Tony, lets him dominate the kiss. 

 

It's been one year, ten months, one week and two days to the day since he found Tony, bruised and bloody, kneeling on the sand. One year, seven months and six days since the first kiss. One year, four months, eight days since the first night he shared Tony's bed. And already it's constant and chaos. There have been no more than phone calls between them in these six weeks, their schedules never quite synching together. James landed in LAX only this morning, having spent two weeks overseas, dealing with military politics and testing some new aircrafts. 

 

James's trips make Tony anxious, uneasy, though he seems incapable of admitting it; instead hiding his concern behind his usual defenses of innuendo, posturing and sarcasm. James never calls him on it. It's touching...or would be if it were anyone else but Tony. He doesn't ever say anything about it being a 'simple operation', because nothing in war is ever simple and Tony knows that as well as he does. Words of reassurance work on civilians, but to use them on Tony would be an insult. So he never reassures, never promises that he will come back. Only ends every conversation with it, 'I will call you again when I can'. It's not perfect, but it's what they have for now. 

 

His body is already very much aware of Tony and already aching, a Pavlovian response to the younger man's presence. Sensory memory, the imprint of hours of idle and intense pleasure experienced at the man's hands. Tony's tongue tangles with his and he can taste sugar and the vague remnant of aged scotch in Tony's mouth. Tony's hands rest on his throat, thumbs stroking soft circles along the sides of his Adam's apple, a simple touch that should not be as erotic as it is, should not send such obscene jolts of pleasure through him. But his knees weaken all the same, and he receives a sharp nip to his bottom lip before his mouth is seized again. 

 

Tony's not what one would call modest when it comes to sex. He knows no shame or inhibition. He is unapologetically passionate and tactile. All combined with a filthy mouth. All the things he wants to do, or have done to him, breathed against James’s skin. The kiss is already hot and dirty and James can't restrain the whimpered moan that escapes him. He knows Tony feels it in vibration against his fingers because his lips pull into a far too self-satisfied smirk against his. He's being pushed backwards then, by some miracle managing to stay upright as his legs keep tangling with Tony's. He ends up backed against the desk. 

 

The impact sends a number of items clattering and James turns to look automatically, but his chin is seized in Tony's long, rough fingers and he is being pulled back into another slow, hungry kiss. He alternates between kissing and nipping James's lips, bruising them further. James is trembling and it’s embarrassing, but he can't seem to stop himself. Tony's hands move to his uniform, unbuttoning the jacket and parting the fabric with reverence. He rubs his hands up and down the crisp light blue shirt, letting the tie catch on his fingers, tugging gently. James leans back, hands gripping the edge of the desk. He takes a shuddery breath, feeling the heat of Tony's hands through the fabric of his shirt, anticipating the feel those hands on his bare skin.

 

There's no definition to their relationship. Damon and Pythias, Tony once referred to them, when he was drunk. They are friends. They shall always be friends, but if it is more, James doesn't know how to refer to it. He knows he is in love with Tony, but that he knew that long before it was anything more. Tony still goes out, still flirts with everything in sight. He still lets the starlets and the gold-diggers and models paw and coo, fascinated more by the payday he represents than by his genius. But he doesn't take any of them home anymore. They stay at the party now, like stale liquor and cigar smoke, brushed aside as soon as he steps into the fresh night air. James is the only one sharing his bed, but that doesn't mean anything. James won't ask, because it is simply understood. They will never talk about this. It happens as it happens, like the ebb and flow of the ocean tides, they will come together and pull apart, driven by what is unspoken and yet binds them inexorably.

 

Tony makes short work of the tie, tugging it loose carelessly to get to the top button of his shirt. He nips lightly at James's jaw and throat, scrapping his teeth along the strong jaw line. The younger man's hands bunch in the crisp fabric that somehow still feels stiff in his hands.

 

"You soak this in starch before you iron it, Coco-Puff?" He grins smartly at the glare James hits him with. Tony knows--bloody _knows_ \--how much he hates pet names. Which is likely why he goes out of his way to find the most inane, sickly sweet and at times, blatantly inappropriate nicknames. (James flashes back on a meeting he had with two of the Joint Chiefs last year, when Tony was patched through via satellite from the lab and began the meeting by greeting the Joint Chiefs and then promptly sought out James, who at that moment had his back turned and said, loudly, "Good Morning, Blue Crush."  James's head had jerked up, turning to the screen to hide the embarrassed flush from the Joint Chiefs. Tony winked at him. "It's Colonel Rhodes, Mister Stark," James had responded through gritted teeth. Tony had just smiled and replied, "As you wish, Gummy Bear.") 

 

"Where do you I even start with--Tony!" Tony effectively silences any reprimand by tweaking a peaked nipple roughly, making James yelp and slap his hand away. "Crazy-ass..." He rubs his chest sorely. His hands move in defense as Tony reaches toward his chest again.

 

"Ah, ah, ah," Tony says. "Hands back on the desk."

 

"None of that kinky shit," James warns.

 

"You love that kinky shit, cupcake."

 

"Tony..." He chokes on his next breath as Tony's hand slips down to cup his burgeoning arousal through the fabric of his uniform pants. He pants softly, head falling back as his hands resume their position on the desk.

 

"There you go..." Tony breaths hotly against his jaw. "That's it..." James's breath comes in uneven gasps, as Tony rubs him with the heel of his hand, an achingly slow caress. The sharp bites of pleasure this action produce, bursting through him like tiny jolts of electricity zipping across his already hypersensitive nerve endings. The scent and feel of Tony is now all encompassing, surrounding. The scent of his sweat, the base remnant of his cologne, faded with the day. Tony's fingers hook just right, slipping...oh, just there and James exhales a shuddery breath which is captured on the tip of Tony's tongue. Meanwhile, his free hand is making quick work of the remaining buttons of James's shirt. The first touch, when Tony's calloused hand slips beneath his undershirt to touch bare skin sends a shock through him and he jerks against the younger man. 

 

Tony smiles against his lips, pleased with the way the taut muscles of James's stomach and abdomen jump and tremble as his fingers trace over them. James is somewhat rapidly losing his battle to hold to coherent thought. When Tony's hand curves, presses down, James arches against him and the helpless moan that vibrates through his throat is silenced by Tony's lips.

 

“Wish you could see yourself, Rhodey. See what I see.” He groans when the pressure releases, when the younger man’s long fingers deftly work open belt and button-fly. Tony’s tongue teases along his jugular, the bitter bite of cologne and sweat mingling with something sweet that is unique to James.

Tony’s hand slithers beneath the waistband of his boxers, wrapping around his length and James thrusts into it at once. Tony presses forward, controlling the movement with his own hips.

 

"Patience, grasshopper," he breathes. 

 

"Be--bed. The bed, Tone..." Tony nuzzles along his jaw line, breathing in deeply.

 

"No. I think I want to fuck you right here." Tony’s hands are calloused, rougher, perhaps, than his own. They can take his words and his breath. Tony is growling, his body pressing into James’s, impossibly close. They're both trembling, breath coming in gasping sobs against each other's mouths. Tony's murmuring all manner of filth, all kinds of obscene imagery woven into his words. How hot James is, how good his body feels, what the scent and taste of him do to Tony, and James can't stop panting long enough to answer. 

 

It’s too much. Too long spent apart now, in dark and desert with only waking dreams interwoven with the rumble of Humvees and the whistle of missiles. He’s not going to last long and that might be more embarrassing if it didn’t feel so damn good. His orgasm comes upon him suddenly and he has to pull his mouth from Tony’s. His entire body seizes when he comes, fire burning flesh and bone to leave nothing but exposed nerves. He gasps hotly, barely able to breathe. His body gives out then, falling into Tony’s lean, muscled form, the only thing that holds him upright. He muffles a whimper in the juncture of the younger man's throat, panting, as he waits to regain control over his body, which seems content to let Tony handle it like a puppet, bending James to his will. He feels Tony’s lips against the side of his head, the rasp of his goatee.

 

“Don’t get sleepy on me, Buttercup.” James raises his head, too sated to care about the pet-name or Tony's arrogant smirk. He cups the younger man's face in his hands and kisses him, messy and slow and wet. Tony makes happy little sounds and James can feel his arousal, pressing into his thigh.

The intercom buzzes suddenly, crackling softly just before Pepper's voice comes through.

 

"Tony, I'm meeting Gerald for coffee. I should be back in a few hours." James reaches blindly behind him to press the button so Tony can speak, knocking a number more items from the desk as he does. 

 

"You shouldn't sleep with him on the second date! Might make you look easy!" Tony offers helpfully. James groans, dropping his head onto Tony's shoulder. He feels more than hears the man's soft chuckle and a hand moves up to stroke the sweat-slick skin at the nape of his neck. There's an irate sigh and Tony grins. She's been dating Gerald for two months and he knows it.

 

"I'll take that into account. No one knows 'easy' better than you," she replies. James can't help the short burst of laughter that escapes at that and Tony's expression is priceless. It's so rare that Pepper actually engages him.

 

"Very nice, Miss Potts," he says, obviously impressed.

 

"Thank you. And, Tony, listen to James and use the bed before you throw out your back." Both men freeze at that.

 

"I thought you turned off the camera," James whispers.

 

"I did," he insists. There's a cackling whir from Jarvis. Tony's head whips around to regard the computer which is now displaying a grinning red devil face on its screen.

 

"Jarvis!" he roars, pushing away from James to charge the computer. His pants which we being held up only by the press of their bodies, catch around his ankles and he would have crashed, if not for James taking hold of him. Their legs tangle and they both end up on the floor with Tony above James. For a brief moment the colonel is distracted enough pondering when Tony even had time to undo his own pants. Jarvis cackles.

 

"Not cool, Jay," James says. The cackling immediately ceases.

 

"My apologies to you, Colonel Rhodes. It is nothing personal."

 

"I'm so deactivating that damn computer," Tony mutters. James wonders for a moment if he should be more concerned by the fact that the A.I. just watched him have sex. He brushes a hand through Tony's hair.

 

"Only you could get into a battle of wits with an artificial intelligence."

 

"He's a smart-ass."

 

"Like his creator," the older man smirks.

 

"Hey," Tony says petulantly, nipping at his lower lip in reprimand. James looks up.

 

"Can I have some privacy, please, Jarvis?"

 

"Of course, Colonel Rhodes," the computer replies and without further comment, the system shuts down.

 

"Maybe I should give him to you," Tony says sourly. James's smirk grows.

 

"Jealous." Tony's eyes narrow.

 

"Hell, yes," he murmurs before his lips descend on James'. The kiss is slow and languid. Tony's tongue explores his mouth slowly, tangling and licking. A moan rumbles from within James's throat and his hands reach to tangle in Tony's dark hair. The kiss deepens and he is breathing Tony's air.

 

"We should really move this to the bed," he manages.

 

"Right. Sure. In a second," Tony replies breathlessly and seizes his lips again. He's hard, pressing against James' thigh and despite his recent orgasm, he's already half-hard himself. His hands rove over Tony's body, bunching the undershirt at his throat. He loves the feel of Tony's bare skin. Hot, smooth skin pulled over ropes of thick, tight muscle. Tony's lifestyle is ridiculously lavish, bordering on hedonistic, but for all that he reflects to the world--a genius, but no less a spoiled playboy--his discipline to his daily workout is exceptional. And it shows in every part of his body. 

 

James can feel the small lines of scarring left behind by his ordeal in the desert; his fingers inevitably seek them out during these moments, feeling their shape like reading Braille, the story of Tony's very evolution into the man he is today. Tony had toyed with the idea of having them covered up, but then decided he wanted them there. To remind him, he said, the cost of the weapons he helped create. It's guilt that no amount of reassuring words from him or Pepper seems to be able to take away. James doesn't know for sure what exactly happened to Tony during his months in captivity and he doubts Tony will ever tell. 

 

The younger man arches cat-like into his hand, trying to move it lower and James obliges, palm moving to caress the firm swell of his ass. The sound Tony makes is like a buzz that hits him in the pit of his stomach. And then Tony is there, seizing his lips, hungry and hot and demanding. He shoves back into James’ hand, and grinds down against him. Gods, it has been way too long. 

 

"Bed! Please, Tone!" he gasps. If they go any further now, they will never make it to the bed and even as good as this is, as it would be, fucking on the concrete floor, he won't risk Tony's health.

 

"Alright. Alright." Tony gets up, and offers James a hand, pulling him up. He lets the older man lead the way to the bed and meanwhile steps out of his pants, leaving him in loose-fitting black silk boxers dotted with red jalapeno peppers. 

 

“Hey,” he says, causing James to turn. As soon as he is close enough, Tony pushes him onto the bed. He is expecting the maneuver and hooks Tony's undershirt, yanking him down too, huffing as the brunt of the younger man's weight lands on his sternum. Tony winces visibly and quickly lifts himself up in a push-up.

 

"Alright?" James nods.

 

"Haven't broken me yet."

 

"Night's still young, Rhodey," Tony smirks. James responds with a sarcastic laugh. The smirk never leaves Tony's lips as he looks down at the older man, just studying him. 

 

Full caramel lips, skin the color of cafe au lait. He'd never dare say it out loud, but despite it all, the masculine visage and the soldier’s rigidity, he is beautiful. The soft hazel of his eyes is touched with a hint of blue and there is a long moment when Tony can do nothing more than stare like a damn fool. It is a moment which his colonel takes full advantage of. James hooks his leg behind Tony's, presses his hand just beneath his collarbone and arches his body, using the combined leverage to flip Tony onto his back.

 

"Nice. Trade secret?" Tony asks, entirely too unperturbed for James's liking.

 

"Shut up," he growls. He nips at Tony’s jaw. “And get rid of your clothes.” James moves back just enough to give him room. Tony wriggles out of his boxers, chucking them carelessly over the side of the bed and landing them on top of Dummy who whirs his discontent and moves back and forth in an attempt to dislodge the offending fabric.

 

“Shut up!” Tony snaps at him and James almost feels bad when Dummy makes an unhappy buzzing sound and lowers his head. And when exactly did he start to think of Tony’s robots as sentient beings with…feelings? He’s startled from the thought as Tony jumps at him, putting him flat on his back. Those deft hands tug impatiently at his pants and simultaneously at his shirt, getting nowhere with either.

 

“Hey,” he mutters, trying to chase the man’s hands away as he sits up, pushing Tony up, though he is unable to shake the man’s hold. “Easy on the uniform.” Tony finally gives up his attempt at multi-tasking and focuses his attention on the shirt first. He tugs the material down James’s arms, sucking hungrily at his shoulder, his bicep. James groans, one hand coming up to curve around the back of Tony’s skull. 

 

“How do you always taste so good, Sugar Bear?” he mutters, hot against James’s skin. His hands are everywhere, roving over his body and he is too distracted to even think of reprimanding his friend for the stupid pet name. Tony tosses the shirt somewhere over the worktable. James raises his arms as Tony’s hand slides beneath his undershirt and draws the fabric up. It gets snagged on the headboard and Tony then scrambles out from under him and off the bed, to grab James’s legs.

 

“Whoa!” He grunts as he pulled across the mattress as Tony tugs anxiously at his pants, managing to work them over his legs fairly quickly. James has but a moment to kick the pants fully free before Tony is pushing him back, bringing their bodies together, bare skin against bare skin. James groans at the contact, the sound muffled by the younger man’s lips. Tony breathes a word that is utterly mangled as he grinds his hips against his lover’s, their cocks sliding slickly together. James lets his head fall back at the spike of pleasure.

 

“Tony…” he moans softly. Tony smirks, licking at the colonel’s mouth, tongue curling around his in a filthy kiss. James’s fingers lock into his hair, pulling the other man down to deepen the contact. Tony’s hard against him, his cock pushing against his thigh. He lets his hand drift down to Tony’s neck, stroking the soft hairs at the base of his skull. The younger man draws back at the tender touch, meeting James’s eyes. This thing between them, it languishes in the shadow, never given voice. Tony’s hand curves under his jaw, and his thumb brushes across his bottom lip. It’s too much intensity and they are both aware that it is dangerous to let this go further. 

 

Tony breaks the eye contact first and James uses the momentary distraction to reverse their positions once more. Tony mutters something that sounds suspiciously like an obscenity.  He takes the man’s lips in a brief, tender kiss before sliding down to press soft kisses and licks along his jaw, his throat, and collarbone; he traces the edge of the reactor with the tip of his tongue, the taste bitter metal and copper. Tony is making soft little noises, contentment and want. His hand curves around James’s skull, teasing at the short hairs. His legs spread a little wider, allowing the older man to fall between them as he moves lower. He paints Tony’s abdomen and his flat stomach with his tongue, tracing the lines of demarcation that appear as the younger man breathes in and out.

 

“James.” He raises his head. Tony’s brown eyes glitter in the half-light, wordless in their asking. He nods, pressing a kiss just above Tony’s navel before he moves up and rolls onto his back beside him. Tony rolls onto his side. For a moment there is stillness between them. Tony looks at him with an expression somehow open and yet indecipherable. James cannot help himself. He touches his fingers to the curve of Tony’s stubble-rough cheek. Tony turns his head, nipping at the pads of James’ fingers before soothing the burn with the tip of his tongue. He smiles cheekily. James smiles back, sliding his fingers up into the disheveled mess of the younger man’s hair. It hits him then, finally. He is home. For how long, he doesn’t know. It could be six months or six days depending on what the general has planned, but for now, he is home. 

 

Tony draws away from him, long enough to retrieve the lubricant and the condoms. He holds up both with a bright smirk. The lubricant is labeled—of all damn things—whipped cream and the condom reads ‘Cherry Pie’ flavored.

 

“See a theme?” the younger man asks. James looks at him with incredulous disbelief.

 

“Are you serious? Where’d you even buy those?”

 

“A sex shop in Malibu. Pepper picked them up,” he says with a grin.

 

“She did not,” James replies, because he knows unequivocally that Tony did talk Pepper into venturing into Malibu to buy dessert-flavored sex products.

 

“No, she threatened to quit when I asked.” Tony concedes, then adds cheerfully, “So, I had Happy do it.” James shakes his head.

 

“It’s a miracle you have any employees left at all,” he mutters.

 

“I gave him enough to get something for the missus, too. He found this really lovely—” James places a hand over his friend’s mouth putting an end to the description before it begins. He feels more than sees Tony’s grin widen and can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of him when the man nips his palm. Tony playfully catches his hand then and presses a soft kiss to the tender crease just beneath his fingers before releasing him. Tony pauses then, just looking at the man laid out before him. The word is once more caught again in his throat. James’s body is sleek, all tight lines and curves. His legs are long and strong, his thighs lean and muscled. Tony’s cock twitches. James has the smallest bit of chest hair, dark little curls that are rough against Tony’s cheek, his hand. His abdomen is ridged with muscle, his stomach bearing a slightly concave curve when he is lying like this. The jut of his hips, wider than Tony’s, are framed perfectly between Tony’s hands, form the perfect curve for Tony’s tongue to trace. 

 

James is watching him, not speaking, making no attempt to provoke him to act. His expression is mildly disconcerting and James cannot bring himself to break the trance yet. Tony reaches to press his hand over James’s heart, a slow, deep massage of the skin with the heel of his hand. James makes a soft sound of pleasure and lets his eyes fall closed. Tony bends to press a soft kiss to James’ left pectoral as his hand glides downward. He pauses to rub over the older man’s taut stomach before his hand slips down to encircle his cock. James bucks up, startled, hips stuttering off the bed. Tony’s long fingers work him achingly slow, the pressure just enough to make his stomach clench but not enough to make him come. And then, suddenly the touch is gone and Tony is looking at him, hungry and wanting and feral. James starts to roll over onto his stomach, but Tony catches his shoulder, gently pulling him back.

 

“No,” he murmurs softly. “I want to see you, Rhodey.” James smiles, shifting back against the luxuriously soft pillows propped against the headboard. He places his feet flat against the bed and spreads his thighs apart to give Tony room to kneel between them. He watches as Tony topples the bottle and slicks his fingers. The scent is sweet, like vanilla ice cream and James almost laughs at the absurdity of it. But his friend’s free hand rubs over James’ inner thigh and he kisses the bend of his knee. 

 

“Tony…” James murmurs. He drops his head back against the pillow, closing his eyes as he feels the man’s long, incredibly calloused fingers pressing inside him. 

 

*

 

It could be minutes, perhaps even hours later; he is utterly lost. James hips are moving steadily, imprisoned by the lackluster stroke of Tony's fingers. He is hard and aching.

 

"Tone...please," he whispers. "Please." Tony can draw this out and has before. When they have the time, as they do now. Hours spent at Tony's mercy, until he is throwing all caution and dignity to the wind, writhing and begging. Tony can draw it out unnaturally, ignore his own painful arousal simply to watch the moments play across James's face, when the pleasure slips into pain and a tear catches in the corner of his eyes. He is close enough to that point now, feeling the beginning of those tears as a tightness in his throat, a sting behind his eyes. His body is drawn taut, every muscle hard as cable straining beneath the stretch of his skin. Tony's lips find his, meeting in a soft, hazy kiss. James tilts his head, attempting to deepen this contact, but the angle at which Tony holds his head, prevents any such action. Tony's free hand slides up his stomach, stroking softly over the ridges of his abdomen. 

 

"Tony..." he breathes, words swallowed by his lover's lips. Quite suddenly the fingers inside him stretch and twist cruelly, scraping roughly across his nerves. James cries out, ripping his mouth away from Tony's...or tries to. Tony's fingers dig into his chin, holding him still as he plunders James's mouth while he fucks him roughly with his fingers. He exhales every breath into Tony's mouth. His hips shift on the mattress in spastic jerks as tremors of pleasure work up his spine and spark through every nerve ending. The razor’s edge of orgasm that is close, but held just out reach. He can make no sound. It is when his eyes flutter, very near begging, that Tony pulls away, simultaneously breaking the kiss and drawing his fingers from James's body. Tony's dark eyes are warmed by the heat of his own smile as he looks down at the man beneath him.

 

"You ready for me?" he asks softly. James nods slightly. Tony's lips close over his, a soft, chaste kiss, this little bit of calm before the storm. Even as he teases the edges of his lover's lips with small nips caress of his tongue, his hands move to James's thighs, spreading them further apart and settling his long, lean muscular body between them. Automatically, James's long legs move to wrap high around Tony's narrow waist, ankles settling in the sharp handles of his hipbones. Tony's thin lips curve into a predatory smile against James's.

 

"That's it..." he coos. His hand slips up James' thigh, fingers digging into the strong muscle. "So eager." Tony's arousal brushes gently against him, soft and teasing as the touch of his lips. James is half-embarrassed to realize the keening mewl that shatters the silence is coming from his own throat. Tony's lips trail kisses across his chin and throat, murmuring little words that mean nothing and everything. James's eyes open to the ceiling, across which the colors from the distant city light through the windows dance and mingle. Tony's body shifts like a rising tide, all smooth motion of steel twined muscle beneath the golden expanse of his skin. A moment in time, caught and held so tight in the breath that catches in James's throat. Tony slides in, just fast enough to make it burn. James closes his eyes, arching up as the fire ascends the length of his spine. He muffles a whimper behind his teeth at the first jolt of pain.

 

"Shhh, easy..." Tony breathes in his ear, comforting him with long strokes down his sides. James's presses his head against the pillow, riding out the initial discomfort. It is the thing about Tony, the thing he discovered when they first became lovers. He knows how to walk that delicate balance between pleasure and pain. Seems to know instinctively how much James can take and never pushes him beyond those boundaries. He grips Tony's biceps, nails sinking deep into the powerful muscle, raising welts in the sweat-slick skin. Half-way and Tony pauses. Perfectly still and James can't...just can't... Tony's hips are holding him in place; he can't move. Tony's hand rubs across his brow.

 

"Open your eyes," he whispers. James doesn't remember closing them. Eyelids flutter, lift to half-mast and hold. Light of those eyes, almost green in the sparse light, slip through the dark length of his long lashes. Tony's calloused thumb moves to capture the single tear that has gathered at the corner of his left eye and rubs it into James' skin.

 

“Tony, please.” Tony smiles, lips hovering just above his lover’s.

 

“So beautiful, Jay,” he whispers. And he begins to move. The world spins. James speaks his name like a prayer, a word spoken carried in a breath so soft and fragile that it scarce survives to reach Tony's ears. They are altogether, fire and ash. Burned in the heat of lust and sin and everything that is temptation and forbidden and needed. They are, only here, gods, unchained and given the freedom of the sky. Reborn in mortal flesh the moment they fall back to Earth, breathless and spent. It is a fool's paradise and part of James knows that. On some level, the knowledge is there, lingering beneath the facade of Tony's playboy reputation and flirtatious smirk and James’s perfect and planned soldier’s life.

 

Tony begins to move, too slow. It’s a deep grind, barely perceptible thrusts that send shuddering trembles of pleasure through him. But it’s not enough. James pushes himself up, pressing his face into the side of Tony’s throat, sucking a bruise into the skin. Tony’s hips stutter in rhythm, a dry, aching groan pulling from his throat, a sound felt more in vibration than heard. 

 

“Rhodey…” he moans. He draws out slowly, achingly slowly, James’s shuddering clenching muscles tightening around him. The colonel pants against his throat, one hand moving to thread into his hair as his lips drag up to meet Tony’s. Their mouths smash together as Tony slams his hips forward and up, nearly lifting James’s own hips from bed with the force. A broken obscenity is lost against his lips as he devours the soldier’s mouth. Everything is spilling out of him, the hours, the days and weeks in the darkness, the long periods without communication. Never knowing. He knows war well enough to fear the silence. And now, James is back where he belongs, where Tony can make sure he is safe and happy, and annoyed. 

 

He pushes deeper, makes them both ache with the force of it, makes James shiver with the combination of pleasure and pain and forces his name on a reedy breath from those lush lips. The feeling of dominance and possession that seizes him then is utterly disorienting. He wants to be the only one who ever sees James like this. Wants to be the only one to know his body like this, the only whose name he breathes his like this. He wants everything. He shifts, forcing the older man back into the mattress and braces one hand flat beside his head, leaning into a thrust that has James throwing back his head and crying out. An animal howl, wild and beautiful and Tony works himself into his body again and again, mindlessly, focused on nothing but James’s flushed face. 

 

“Oh…Ton—Tony . Tony,” he rasps. “Please.” Tony bows his head, licking a slick little trickle of sweat James’s skin as his hand covers his cock. He rubs his thumb over silky head, presses in just enough to pull an incoherent sob from James.  Tony bites the side of his neck, none too gently. Hard enough to ensure it will raise a bruise. James chokes on his next breath and comes into Tony's hand. The tightening of his body, the hard quake that accompanies his lover's climax, draws Tony's own orgasm from him and the smooth chestnut expanse of skin before his eyes goes black for a moment at the force of it. When he comes back to himself, his chin in buried in the juncture between James's neck and shoulder. Their bodies are sticky with cooling sweat and the evidence of James’s climax between them. He can feel the older man’s heart pounding and he shifts closer for the comforting feel of it. 

 

“Mmm, you’re heavy, man,” James rumbles.

 

“You calling me fat, Rhodey?” he slurs.

 

“Yeah, kinda,” the older man replies, grinning when Tony flicks him on the nose in reprimand. Still, he has to move. Tony pushes up as slowly and delicately as he can; James still grunts softly in discomfort as they disengage.

 

"Alright?" Tony asks. He smiles sleepily, and nods.

 

"Washcloth?" Tony reaches for the cloth beside the bed and hands it to James. They clean up in comfortable silence and then fall back on the bed. Tony smiles, curling up against his chest.  He rubs his stubbly cheek against his lover's sweaty torso, finding comfort in the pounding heart, the gasping breaths still shuddering through James's body. He rubs his thumb over the hard rise of his pectoral and presses his lips to that sensitive skin below the nipple. James’s hand falls on his head, fingers stroking gently through the younger man’s sweat damp hair.

"Got a few hours?" Tony asks, still breathless. James smiles, eyes holding at half-mast.

 

"I got nowhere to be," he replies.

 

"Good..." is the last thing Tony manages before they both drift off to sleep.

 

End


End file.
